Trials | Merlin FanFiction (Merthur)

Chapitre Quatre

Merlin pounded through the hallways, faster than he'd ever run before, footsteps keeping time with his frantic heartbeat. He lost his footing at one point, his thin leather shoes slipping on the polished floor, sending him to his knees with a stab of pain, but he scrambled up and kept running.

He had to find Arthur before Uther's men did.

The halls seemed to be filled with guards, and Merlin didn't bother to avoid them. Not yet. Word wouldn't have traveled so fast, although in another fifteen minutes it would be too late. He reached out for that shining presence that always seemed to say "Arthur" and let it draw him, guide him.

He was almost there, almost in time, when he skidded around a corner and saw Sir Kay and seven men-at-arms, marching in formation down the corridor. He froze, clutching at the corner and Kay looked around and saw him. His eyes widened, and then he jerked his head abruptly. Merlin didn't hesitate, just bolted for the stairwell, and ignored the shouts behind him

He took the last flight of stairs two at a time, and crashed through the doors to Arthur's chambers.

Arthur spun around, looking shocked, still disheveled from patrol, dressed--thank god, still dressed--in breeches and coat, face dirty and smudged. "Merlin, what on earth--"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," panted Merlin, kicking the doors shut and flinging himself at Arthur. He put one hand over Arthur's mouth and pushed them both back against the wall behind the bed. Arthur was rigid underneath him, stiff and outraged, but Merlin guessed some of his desperation was showing because Arthur didn't immediately throw him off, tolerated his touch for just a second, and that second was enough. He clung to Arthur, heaving for air, hand still over his mouth, pressing him flat to the wall, as the clatter of mail became louder in the corridor outside.

Arthur went very still, and Merlin took a deep breath and focused and breathed "Dirgelaeth nyni," praying that it would work, as Kay kicked the door open and entered, sword drawn and face grim.

Arthur looked at the armed men under his father's banner who were coming into his room, and then turned his head to stare at Merlin in disbelief. Merlin flushed, but he didn't drop his gaze, and he didn't drop the spell. He felt the magic prickling on his skin. Arthur's eyes reflected golden fire, and Merlin dropped his head to brace it against Arthur's shoulder, listening to the men only feet away and praying that Arthur wouldn't speak, wouldn't move, wouldn't reject his help, as furniture scraped over the floor and men cursed and fabric tore.

Arthur never moved a muscle.

Finally, after what felt like years, Kay stopped them. "All right, that's enough. He isn't here," he said, and Merlin raised his head, turning to look. Kay was gesturing the men out, his sword sheathed, and Merlin felt his heart lurch back into something like a normal rhythm. "You," Kay added, tautly, pointing to one of them, "take a man and report back to the king. We'll search the stables next, and then the armory."

Arthur was trembling now, so finely that Merlin would never have noticed if they weren't touching from neck to knee. His face was painfully expressionless. Merlin fumbled his free hand to Arthur's shoulder, and squeezed helplessly, as Kay led the way out.

Merlin waited until the sound of footsteps had faded, and then let go of Arthur, stepping back to let the spell fade. He swallowed dryly at the state of the room, which looked like a windstorm had hit it, but Arthur was already moving past him, staring at the disorder, and when he turned around his eyes were wide, dazed.

"My father," he murmured, almost absently.

"Not now," Merlin said tensely, and yanked open a listing cupboard door to pull out a pack. "We have to get out of here," and Arthur was shaking his head when Merlin grabbed his arm, desperately. "He said to kill you, if you resisted," and Arthur inhaled quickly, looking stunned. "Arthur, please, we have to go now."

He let go and began stuffing things into the pack, grabbing them from the cupboard and the floor; the warmest cloak he could find, a shift, a ball of woolen hose, a knife that needed sharpening, a coil of leather lacing, oil for chainmail, Arthur's second-favorite tunic. A tray of food was still on the table, miraculously not overturned; it was cold and congealing, and Arthur would probably object, but Merlin had grown up eating half-rotten turnips straight from the field, and it was good enough. Merlin grabbed the cheese and half-eaten bread, two apples, wrapped them in a tunic and stuffed them in the pack, then slung the straps over his shoulders. Arthur's sword was still in the sheath, laying on the floor; he snatched it up and put it under his arm.

For a moment, he spared a thought for his own things--the book of magic, which would surely come in useful, with the parchment with Aelfric's letter on it tucked securely inside the pages--but there was no time to make it to Gaius' rooms. The book was safely concealed, and would remain so, even when Uther searched his rooms, which Merlin was sure he would; that would have to suffice for now. Later, if it was safe, he could come back for them.

When he turned around, Arthur was staring at him. "Come on," he hissed, grabbed Arthur's hand and tried to drag him towards the door. "Please." He would have prayed, if he'd known who to pray to, that Arthur would listen; that his wonderful, damnable sense of honor would not insist that he stay to face his father. That he would, just once, just this once, see sense in surviving to fight another day.

Arthur looked around a final time, and Merlin saw the depth of the betrayal sink in, his eyes bleak and hard. Then he stepped forward, and Merlin almost sobbed with relief.

"Stay beside me," he whispered, and Arthur nodded. "I can hide us, if they come, just--stay quiet." He really wished he knew what Arthur was thinking, but Arthur said nothing.

No one was in the corridor when he peeked out. He crept out, holding Arthur's hand tightly, and tried to think. Kay had said he was going to the stables, then the armory--which was precisely the opposite of what a fugitive would do, thank all the gods for Kay, Merlin thought gratefully. He couldn't have seen them, but he was obviously hoping that Arthur would be able to make an escape before this lunacy could worsen.

The armory, then, first, for Arthur's mail and as many weapons as they could carry.

Arthur was a shadow behind him all the long painful trip to the armory. Three more parties of guards went past, swords drawn and looking blank and forbidding. Each time, Merlin froze with Arthur right behind him, whispering his spell of concealment until they had passed. Each time, Merlin felt his heart break a little more, as Arthur became more and more remote, the distance in his expression not hiding the anguish in his eyes.

The armory was deserted, and the shadows stayed quiet as they crept inside. Merlin made sure the door was locked with magic as well as with steel and the windows securely shuttered before he dared create a light. Arthur was white-faced in the pale glow, but calm and composed, eyes focused.

Merlin didn't waste time on reassurances. Arthur wouldn't have believed them anyway. Instead, he yanked together Arthur's armor and started to work. He put the gambeson on directly over Arthur's coat, and then the mail--it would be terribly uncomfortable and limit Arthur's range of motion, and probably chafe like hell to boot, but it would be warm at least, and they didn't have time for Arthur to get kitted out properly. He strapped the plate tight, and let Arthur make his own last adjustments to his coif and helm while he searched for supplies. More polishing oil, a crossbow with a quiver of quarrels, two more long knives, a whetstone. He shoved it all into his pack, and then waited impatiently for Arthur at the door.

Arthur could move amazingly quietly, even in armor, and they made it the short distance to the stables without incident. Merlin pushed Arthur into a shadow and found tack and harness in the dark, saddled Arthur's favorite sorrel mare and a brown gelding that could be relied on not to try and throw him, trusting to stealth rather than magic to keep him hidden. He helped Arthur mount, out in the stable yard, clambered onto his own horse with more determination than grace, and they were off.

The castle was chaos, bright lights and noise, and behind them he could hear yells, but none seemed to be in aimed in their direction. He reached out for Arthur's hand, breathing the words of the spell until they blurred together in an endless chant, and slowly, sedately, they rode out past the sentries.

The city was quiet, unnaturally so. Merlin had expected it; people in the town were sensitive to the currents from the castle like clouds signaling the coming storm, and there were armed men everywhere in the streets. No one who could help it would be out tonight, and the streets remained clear. Arthur looked away from Merlin, and his hand was cold, but he didn't let go.

Outside Camelot, Arthur stopped his horse.

"Arthur," Merlin began, and then stopped. Arthur was looking back up at the castle. "Come on," he said eventually, gently, and Arthur dropped his eyes, reined his horse around and spurred it forward.
 

He didn't know where they were going. It wasn't a direction Merlin was familiarwith—southwest towards the hills, following the stars of the Hunter, moonlightshowing a narrow deer trail. He let Arthur lead, feeling somewhat flat andexhausted after the ordeal of the escape, and didn't try to make conversation.His horse was warm underneath his legs, and he hunkered down, sliding his palmsinto the thick unruly mane and holding tight.

He was so tired. Maybe he'd just rest his eyes a little--Arthur apparently knewwhere he was going, which was all Merlin cared to know.

It started to snow as they rode, climbing higher up into the hills, away fromhome.